


Shakespeare's Got Nothing on Us

by xspiritofthemapleleaf



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Flirting, Blood, Fake AH Crew, M/M, Smut Eventually, jeremwood, lads vs. gents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 19:57:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10974294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xspiritofthemapleleaf/pseuds/xspiritofthemapleleaf
Summary: Ryan’s always tried to keep his distance from others. Being an immortal only makes it harder to build relationships, especially after outliving everyone he’s ever loved. It's why he joined the Gents-- the most powerful crew in Los Santos. Thanks to their immortality, they are rivaled by no one-- until they meet a small gang that seems to share their unique abilities.  And even worse, Ryan develops feelings for a member of their crew, a young man named Jeremy.





	Shakespeare's Got Nothing on Us

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic idea I've been hoarding for years, with a classic "falling in love with one of the the bad guys" trope, mixed in with a little "let's keep our relationship a secret". Planning on updating weekly. I hope you enjoy!

Ryan would say that the point in which the heist became personal was when he caught on fire.

It hadn’t been the first time. Once he discovered that erupting in flames in his skull mask made him look exactly like Ghostrider, there’d been an entire month where all he’d do is set himself on fire to scare the locals. Geoff thought it was fucking hilarious, but Jack was pissed; Jack had to go shopping every week to replace the clothes Ryan destroyed. That was one of the sad things about immortality—clothes weren’t immortal too.

But when he stepped out of his (recently exploded) stolen vehicle, flames licking and stinging his face and gun hot against his back, he was pretty ticked off.

The culprit, a small figure ducking from a rooftop, disappeared in a flash. He knew who it was immediately. The brown leather jacket with the pattern of a roaring bear on the back of it was hard to miss.

 _Smart_ , Ryan thought. If he stuck around, Ryan would’ve used his blood as face paint.

“Did you find him?” Geoff’s voice buzzed in his ear.

Ryan threw off what was left of his jacket, tapping a communicator in his ear. The metal was hot, but luckily not yet fried. “You could say that,” he scoffed.

“The cops saw that explosion from a mile away, Ryan.” Jack’s voice chimed in, static almost severing the communication. Above him helicopter blades whirled: Jack’s cargobob. “You need to get moving.”

Ryan was already running, leaping onto a rickety fire escape. His hands caught the metal with ease, and he pulled himself up, taking the three-flight staircase in under a minute. The exercise was almost effortless; he’d had centuries of practice.

It was the only reason why they’d managed to tail this gang for so long. Immortality had left the Crew with skills so precise that the way they maneuvered together was rivaled by no one. Since the turn of the century the Gents had been the top dogs, and well, some bigshot gang wasn’t going to ruin it for them.

“It’s the guy with the bear jacket,” Ryan grunted into the communicator. “This is another attack from The Lads.”

“That B-list gang?” Jack asked.

“Well, they’re becoming A-list pretty damn fast.” Geoff sounded annoyed.

Ryan spotted Bear Jacket a few rooftops away—with an RPG pointed directly at him. He threw himself to the floor just as the rocket flew over his head. Behind him, he felt the heat of the explosion. A shard of glass buried itself in Ryan’s calf.

He stood up, and yanked the shard out. “Yeah, you’re more than dead now,” Ryan decided, pulling his rifle off of his back. He cocked it and sprayed the rooftops, satisfied when Bear Jacket began to run again.

“He’s running out of rooftops,” Jack spoke. “You can corner him if he keeps going stra—ack!” Ryan heard the sharp noise of the sniper rifle, watching in disbelief as Jack’s chopper spiraled out of control. It crashed into a billboard, bursting into a cloud of shrapnel and fire.

Jack’s line went dead.

“What was that?” Geoff asked, annoyed.

“Jack just got sniped out of the air,” Ryan replied, leaping over an alleyway. He wondered where the shot had come from; there had to be another man out there somewhere. Which added another question: how many of them were there? And why the fuck were they causing so much trouble?

Ryan couldn’t wait to fucking destroy them.

Meanwhile the billboard in front of them slowly swayed, with Bear Jacket heading straight towards it. An idea formed in his head.

Geoff’s voice sounded in his ear again. “Of fucking course. Why did I have to crash my car at the worst time?” Geoff groaned.

Ryan was getting closer. Bear Jacket was almost underneath the billboard. With a smooth motion, Ryan blasted its supports.

The billboard swayed forward, backward, and then toppled down.

Bear Jacket stumbled to a stop just before he was crushed by the sign.

Ryan leapt onto the roof, grinning under his mask; he had him cornered. “You know,” Ryan loaded his gun, “you blew me up. Which was pretty smart. I’m not even mad.” Ryan aimed his rifle. “But that was my favorite jacket.”  

Bear Jacket turned towards him for the first time, glasses shimmering against the flames. He was younger, that was for sure—late-twenties at least, with curly brown hair and a roundish face. His jacket shined with blood and bullet holes. With all of this, plus the irritated look on his face, he might’ve been scary; except for the fact that he was almost half a foot shorter than Ryan. “Do you honestly think I give a fuck about your jacket?” he growled.

A loud snapping sound echoed through the night, and Ryan dropped his gun, crying out as his hand seared with pain. 

Bear Jacket in front of him suddenly dashed to the left. Ryan could do nothing but watch as he threw himself off the roof.

Ryan groaned. He reached for his gun, wincing as his hand protested. Blood spilled from the new hole in his palm, but he didn’t care. He had chased this guy all the way across Los Santos, only for it to end on a suicide?

He walked to the end of the roof, and grimaced at the body on the concrete. “Geoff?” he radioed in. “He fucking killed himself.”

“Really? What an asshole,” Geoff complained. “What about the others?”

“One of them just shot a hole through my—wait just a second.” Ryan blinked, not believing what he was seeing. The guy smashed on the concrete…was getting up?

Without thinking, Ryan leapt off the building. He hit the ground rolling, feeling the sharp pain of some ribs cracking. He ignored it for now, turning towards Bear Jacket who had, by now, pulled himself off of the ground. He turned towards Ryan, face contorted in rage, hurt but still very much alive.

Ryan’s mind whirled. He brought up his gun and opened fire. The bullets spasmed through the attacker’s body, and his neck snapped back.

The rifle clicked, clip empty. Ryan lowered the gun.

For a moment everything was motionless. Then Bear Jacket moved, rolling his head forward. He spat on the ground and pulled out a pistol. Blood trickled down his chin. “That doesn’t work, shithead,” he growled.

Ryan didn’t have time to come up with a witty comeback however, nor wonder what the odds were that one of the rival gang members was an _immortal_ , because just then a bright purple Prius plowed straight through Bear Jacket.

“Look who found a fucking car!” Geoff screamed, smashing through a fence.  “Eco-friendly, bitch!”

Ryan chuckled, tapping his earpiece. “Glad you could join us.”

A sharp snap echoed through the night.

Ryan’s reflexes kicked in, and he flinched, just as a bullet blasted through his mask; it whizzed past him and wedged itself into a wall.

Cursing, Ryan threw his skull mask down, useless.  His cheek stung where the bullet nicked him, and he could feel the bridge of his nose bleeding down his face.

He looked at the direction where the shot came from. About 200 hundred yards away, he caught the reflection of something perched on top of an apartment building.

By now, Ryan could hear the sirens. He didn’t have much time before the cops showed up. They needed to find Jack and get the hell out of here. But here was an opportunity to catch another member of this stupid gang, maybe even find out if they all shared this unique ability.  

Ryan decided he couldn’t miss it.

His movements were sluggish, especially now with his cracked ribs, but he ran at top speed to the building. He bounded inside, scaring the shit out of some poor doorman, and took the stairs two at a time.

Two flights above him, he heard someone drop something down the stairs. Ryan continued to run, stopping suddenly as he watched a purple and orange sniper rifle tumble down the steps in front of him. It came to a stop at his feet.

About two seconds after the rifle came a man dressed in the same colors. He froze at the sight of Ryan.

Ryan sized the guy up pretty quick. Another young man, about the same age, with an unshaven face and a white cowboy hat resting over his brown hair. He was definitely on the shorter side, and didn’t look anything like a master sniper—how the hell this guy managed to hit Ryan’s hand from such a reasonable distance astonished him.

“Wow, you’re a fast one,” the guy blurted out. “I’ll just be going—“

He started to move, but Ryan bounded up the steps, slamming him into the wall. “Oh come on, we just met,” Ryan reasoned. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a knife, touching the tip at the guy’s throat. “And I have to repay you, especially after what you did to my hand.” He chuckled darkly.

The man laughed nervously. “Really? There’s no need. That was from the goodness of my heart.”

Ryan put more pressure on the blade.

“Woah now. Hey, listen. That scary mask thing you had going was working really well for you. Face paint too.” He stuttered out.

Ryan pretended to pout. “Then why’d you have to shoot it off?”

“I just had to reveal that face of yours. Especially with these crazy arms. You’ve really nailed the whole hot murderer bit.” He shrugged, smiling.

Ryan could feel some heat rising to his cheeks, but he could play this game. “Already flirting with me and I don’t even know your name. Who are you?” Ryan asked calmly.

“Me? I’m Jeremy. Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand.

Ryan didn’t move.

“Right. Not a shaker. That’s cool.” Jeremy put his hand down.

“Why are you meddling with our plans?” Ryan asked.

Jeremy shrugged. “The Lads get bored sometimes. We get tired of killing people who don’t come back. We’ve been trailing you for a while now.” Jeremy frowned. “Also, who the hell says meddling anymore?”

“I do,” Ryan protested. His mind spun with this new information. Was Jeremy implying that every member of the Lads was immortal? “I guess you won’t mind if I just kill you then,” he dug deeper with the knife, breaking skin.

Jeremy grinned, tilting his head away from the blade. “And ditto for you, right?”

Ryan heard the gun cock, and he turned, face to face with a shotgun barrel. The man holding it smiled under a pair of sunglasses. “Hello, love.”

Ryan grumbled. He didn’t have time for this shit. His hand lashed out and he grabbed the barrel.

The man squawked, shaking the gun and trying to get Ryan to let go of it while Jeremy cursed against the wall. “You idiot!” Jeremy groaned, shifting.

For a second Ryan was distracted, and he pushed Jeremy. It was just enough time for the man to line up the gun to his forehead again.

He pulled the trigger, and Ryan’s vision exploded into darkness.

…

“For fuck’s sake. Car destroyed. Cargo-bob eviscerated. What a bunch of assholes.”

Ryan blinked open his eyes, and groaned, every part of his body aching. He looked around, recognizing the living room of the Gents headquarters: a giant penthouse with half a dozen rooms. Slowly he sat up, ignoring the massive headache that had begun to form just above his eyebrows.

“Fuck,” Ryan groaned, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, Sleeping Beauty lives,” Jack grumbled, laying on the couch opposite of him. Pieces of Jack’s skin were charred black, still healing from the explosion. But Jack’s face remained surprisingly untouched, beard and all. Jack typed away on a laptop, frowning and not looked at all very pleased. “I’m shopping right now. Want a new skull mask?”

“Come on! You’ve gotta give me something.” Ryan raised an eyebrow as Geoff paced the room behind Jack’s couch, almost shouting into a phone. “…Hey, watch it pal. I’ve done so many favors for you. Either get me a new cargobob or your ass will be hanging off the tallest building in Los Santos.” Geoff hung up in a huff.

“Having some trouble?” Ryan asked.

Geoff tsked. “’Some trouble.’ Hah.” He glanced at Ryan. “How’s your head feel?”

“Like someone put it in a blender.”

“I’ll tell you what, that’s about what it looked like when we found your body. Who the hell shot you dead in the face?” Geoff collapsed onto the couch, reaching for his glass of whiskey.

Ryan blinked, remembering the fight, and how the one named Jeremy had called him hot. He frowned and shook his head. “Jeremy, he said his name was. The sniper, the one who shot you out of the sky.” He looked pointedly at Jack.

“Hmm. Must be pretty damn good,” Jack muttered, eyes not coming of the computer screen. “He shot my head from over a mile away.” Jack seemed almost impressed.

Geoff raised an eyebrow. “So you talked to him?”

Ryan nodded, leaning back on the couch. “Yeah. I did. They were the Lads alright.”

“Shit,” Geoff whined.

Ryan frowned. Their conversation kept repeating in his head, over and over.

_“The Lads get bored sometimes. We get tired of killing people who don’t come back.”_

“Don’t come back…” Ryan muttered. “Hey guys?”

Geoff and Jack looked up.

Ryan sighed. “I think we got a bigger problem on our hands. These guys…I think they’re immortal.”

“Well we definitely know Mister Explosive Asshole is, right?” Geoff grumbled.

“Yeah, but I think the other two are also,” Ryan said.

Ryan briefly retold their conversation to them. He left the bizarre flirting out—that shit was too weird to be explained yet, and yeah, maybe he was a little embarrassed about it.

“Hmm.” Geoff stood up, pacing again. “So there’s more like us, huh? Well I guess we better show them who owns this town. Put up a ransom for them. Anyone who brings me the head of a member of the Lads will be paid handsomely. If they really are immortal, it will surely piss on their parade.” Jack rolled his eyes, but nodded.

“And if we run into them again?” Ryan asked.

Geoff shrugged. “We won’t be doing shit for a while. Let’s at least heal up. I want us at our best for our next meet up.” Geoff grinned. “If it’s true they’re all immortal, I can’t wait to blow their brains out over and over.”

…

“Ouch! What the fuck?” Michael hissed.

“Hold still!” Jeremy snapped back, tweezers raised.

Gavin, watched (from a safe distance) as Jeremy pulled bullets out of Michael’s chest. They counted 27 holes, 14 of which hadn’t passed through the body—the worst damage any of them had taken.

Jeremy patted Michael down with an alcohol swipe. Michael growled, trying his damndest not to move. “That chopper guy’s gonna fucking get it.”

“What are you gonna do to him?” Gavin asked, teasing. _“Kill him?”_

Fuming, Michael grabbed something next to him. He loaded a pistol.

Gavin squawked, flinching away as Michael pointed the gun at him.

“Do. Not.” Jeremy warned, grabbing Michael’s wrist. Reluctantly, Michael let go of the gun.

Jeremy tossed the gun to the side, squinting as he looked for any more bullets they missed. The events of the night before kept playing through his mind over and over.

_“Already flirting with me and I don’t even know you.”_

Jeremy’s cheeks reddened. Why did he have to be such a space case? It was like the moment he saw someone attractive the words spilled out of his mouth. And even worse, the masked man, the _Vagabond_ , seemed to like it.

It had been a long time since Jeremy had dated anyone.

He glanced back and forth between Michael and Gavin, who were now bickering about something else. Despite all of Michael’s warnings the man had cozied up to him again, and was fondly stroking Michael’s hand.  

Jeremy frowned. He knew the two had been fucking. And goddammit, Jeremy was sexually frustrated.

He pulled the last bullet out of Michael’s chest. “Done,” Jeremy announced, placing one lonely hello kitty band-aid on Michael’s mangled chest.

“Ha ha,” Michael muttered.

Jeremy’s phone chirped. He removed his gloves before picking it up. A photo came in from Matt—Matt had been a long time contact of the Lads, and he would’ve already been a part of the crew if he weren’t mortal.

The photo was screencap of a conversation between Matt and someone else named Mica. Jeremy read it, frowning.

Mica: OMFG Ramsey put a bounty on the lad’s heads. They are so fucked. Hell, if I run into one of them in an alley I might even try to shoot them, lol

Matt: What? How much?

Mica: 10 million.

“Oh, shit,” Jeremy muttered. He quickly sent Matt a thank you reply.

“What?” asked Gavin, walking behind him and peeking over his shoulder.

“The Gents,” Jeremy said. “They put a bounty on our heads.”

“What? Why?” Gavin frowned. “They know we’re immortal.” He tried to grab the phone from Jeremy, but Jeremy shoved him off.

Gavin pouted, but relented. “How much?” he asked.

 “Ten.”

“Thousand?” Michael raised an eyebrow.

“No.” Jeremy grimaced. “Ten million.”

Gavin made a noise. “Every bloody asshole in Los Santos will be after us! Why would they do that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Michael huffed, standing up. “They want to piss us off.”

“Yeah.” Jeremy was thinking. Did he piss Ryan off with the small talk? Maybe he was the reason why the bounty was so high? “We should talk to them.”

“I agree,” Michael said. “We’ll never get a good heist in again if every baddie in Los Santos is chasing us. Either we talk it out, or one of us finds another city. And considering we’re all immortal, I doubt any of us are going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Can I talk to them?” Gavin asked. “I’m really charming.”

It took about a second before Michael and Jeremy bursted into laughter.

Gavin frowned. “Guys! I’m serious!”

“Are you kidding?” Michael giggled. “One word out of your mouth and they’ll shoot you in the face.”

“‘Charming’. Holy shit,” Jeremy laughed.

“I am! Eff off!” Gavin protested. Michael, smiling, gave him a playful shove. Gavin sighed.

“Listen,” Jeremy spoke after they finished, “I’ll go. Gavin’s an idiot—“ “Hey!” –“And Michael will probably try to the beat the shit out of them.”

Michael shrugged. “Not gonna deny it.” He raised an eyebrow at Jeremy. “You’re not gonna get soft, are you?”

Jeremy scoffed. “The fuck are you talking about?”

Michael raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ve never missed before. Ever.”

There was an awkward pause. Gavin coughed.

Jeremy’s heart pounded. _Shit_. His mind raced back to the fight. He sniped a moving Jack through a helicopter whirling at top speed. But when his scope landed on Ryan about to unload a clip into Michael, he had shot his hand. And then again, only 100 yards out, Jeremy had shot his mask.

Michael and Gavin stared at him.

“Maybe I’ve lost my touch,” he shrugged. “That guy’s fast.”

“Bullshit,” Michael cursed.

“What? And who will go then? Gavin?” Jeremy rolled his eyes. “They’ll never take him seriously.”

 Gavin huffed, crossing his arms. “At least I can hit a bloody target, Lil’ J.”

Jeremy’s temper flared. Before he could respond his phone buzzed again. Another text from Matt.

              Matt: Your target is on the move again.

Jeremy’s eyes widened. Quickly he texted back.

              Jeremy: Where?

              Matt: 2nd and Carlisle. Convenience store.

It was a trap. Jeremy knew it. Ryan was trying to draw them out. “I’m going now,” he announced.

“Wait. Right now?” Gavin stood up. “You sure?”

Jeremy walked over to the front door. Propped up next to it was his purple and orange sniper rifle.

He picked it up, grabbing ammo from his bag and loading it. He slung them both over his shoulder.

“I’m sure,” he said shakily. “Gavin, finish up here. Don’t wait up for me.”

He entered the night, feeling the weight of their gazes on his back.


End file.
